Scandal in Skibbereen (25 page)

“He was,” Bridget said with a touch of sadness. “He could handle no more than telling Tom O’Brien to order more seeds. Although I will say, he was eager to please. If you asked him to do something for you, he’d try his best.”

“Which still wouldn’t include stealing a large painting, I’ll bet.”

“
Buíochas le Dia,
no. He was always a good lad and he worked hard—gave no trouble to anyone. Have you heard anything about his funeral? His people are gone now, and there’s only the O’Briens to see to it.”

“I haven’t heard anything. I’m not even sure the gardaí have released his body yet.”

“Speaking of the gardaí, how’re you and young Sean getting on?”

“Fine,” Maura replied guardedly. They’d been on exactly one date, or maybe not even a whole date, and it was a little early to decide how things were going with them.

“I’ve not seen him at work, but I’ve heard that he’s very thorough. And careful. He doesn’t like to jump to conclusions.” Bridget hesitated, which was unusual for her. “Maura, please don’t take my interest amiss. Your gran is gone, and you’ve no mother to talk to. Seems as though it’s fallen to me to see you settled.”

So Bridget really was playing matchmaker, wasn’t she? “Bridget, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but right now I’m as settled as I’ve ever been in my life—I have a steady job and a house. If you’re trying to marry me off, well, I’m not ready for that. Not that Sean’s not a nice guy, so if I decide I’m ready to look I’ll keep him on my list.” Maura checked her watch. “Shoot, I’d better get going—I told Gillian and Althea I’d meet them at Sullivan’s at ten.”

“You go on your way, dear.”

“And I promise we’ll be careful with Eveline, even if we have to sit on Althea to keep her quiet.”

“I wish you luck. On your way, now.”

D
riving toward Leap, Maura reviewed what they now knew and wondered what they could say to Eveline Townsend. First of all, did Eveline know that the big painting at Mycroft House was by an important artist? Second, since they hadn’t found any proof of its purchase by the Townsend family, they needed to find out if Eveline had any ideas about that, if it existed at all and where to look for it. Third, Sister Benedicta had independently confirmed that the little painting that had started the whole mess had in fact come from Mycroft House and claimed it had been a gift from Richard Townsend, long deceased, to pregnant housemaid Jane Deasy. Of course, someone might ask whether Richard Townsend had had the right to give it away, but at least he’d done what he’d thought was the responsible thing, helping Jane out by giving her the painting, not realizing she’d be too sentimental to sell it. Had Eveline known anything about that? Harry said he thought she’d been close to her brother, so it was worth asking about. Maura tried to picture Jane, alone in her bleak room in a strange city, taking the painting out and gazing on the face that looked so much like the man she had loved.

Had anyone ever told Jane that Richard had died in the war? Had she assumed that when she didn’t hear from him? Or had she figured he’d just brushed her off? Jane had cut herself off from her past and her family back in Ireland, but she hadn’t made much of a new life for herself in New York. Yet, as Sister Benedicta had pointed out, they were all here now because of that brief summer love affair so long ago.

How were they going to tie up all the loose ends? Heck, what
were
the loose ends? Would the Townsends agree to lend or sell the painting? Who did the little painting really belong to now?

And where did Seamus Daly’s death fit in? It had to be connected somehow. It seemed just too big a coincidence to think that Seamus had been killed by a random prowler. Besides, given Sean’s latest news that Seamus
hadn’t
been killed with the shovel, there were only a few possibilities:

One, Seamus Daly hadn’t died on the lawn where he was found, so he had been killed by someone in the house and dumped on the lawn. That someone could have been a member of the household, but that was a pretty short list: Eveline and the O’Briens. But why would any of them have wanted to kill Seamus? He was harmless, and he was a good worker. So it still could be some unknown outsider.

Two, Seamus had come face-to-face with an intruder who was looking for the painting in the house, and the intruder had killed him and dragged him outside to draw attention away from the house and what might be in it. Say Seamus had interrupted someone in the house who was looking for the painting. Seamus had the right to be in the house, although maybe not in the middle of the night. Maybe an intruder wouldn’t have expected to run into him, thinking all the residents were safely tucked into bed at that late hour. Had Seamus confronted this person and been killed for it? And the killer had tried to draw attention away from the house by moving his body. But the intruder hadn’t gotten near the painting, if the years of undisturbed dust meant anything. Had he come back for a second try? That would mean he was probably the same person Tom O’Brien had fired at.

Three, someone unknown—an outsider?—had killed Seamus somewhere else altogether, then dumped his body on the lawn, thinking it would look like an ordinary crime—except that crime wasn’t ordinary here in County Cork. At least that solution would mean it had nothing to do with the painting, but why would anyone kill Seamus, who hardly ever left the grounds of the manor?

Maura pulled up and parked outside Sullivan’s. Gillian was already there, leaning against her car. She waved in greeting.

“Where’s Althea?” Maura called out as she approached.

“I don’t know. I tried her mobile but she didn’t answer.”

“Maybe she went straight to the manor,” Maura suggested.

“I don’t think so. She knows better than that now.”

“Have you heard from Harry?”

“I talked to him after he spoke to Eveline last night, and she’s agreed to meet with us. Despite what Harry seems to think, she’s not all that fragile.” Gillian looked down the road to where Mycroft House lay, concealed behind thickly leafed trees. “I really don’t know where he stands on all of this. I won’t pretty it up—Harry’s weak, and he doesn’t like confrontations. And I’m not sure he’s had a genuine conversation with Eveline in years. He treats her like a piece of china that has to be handled carefully, not as a person.”

“What’s your take on her?”

“You mean, is she senile? I don’t think so. Are her memories intact? Possibly. That’s why we want to talk with her, isn’t it?”

Maura looked up to see a police car pull up behind hers, with Sean Murphy at the wheel. “Good morning, Sean,” she called out. “What brings you here?”

Sean’s expression was somber. “Maura, we might do well to take this inside, if you don’t mind?”

Confused, Maura fished her keys out of her bag and opened the door of Sullivan’s. It was still early, and no one else was in yet. Sean let them pass, then closed the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?” Maura said.

Sean swallowed. “Your friend Althea Melville’s at the garda station in Skibbereen.”

“Why?”

“She’s worried she might have killed a man, an American. Might we sit?”

“What?” Gillian gasped.

Althea’s really put her foot in it now,
was Maura’s first thought. Was it Nate? She waved toward the table in the front corner, and they all pulled out chairs and sat. “What’s the man’s name?”

“She wasn’t sure.”

Not sure? That didn’t make sense. “Sean, why are you telling us?” Maura asked.

“Because of Seamus Daly’s death and what you say has been going on at the manor. Now you’ve got me thinking that this is tied together somehow.”

Finally!
“How can we help?” Maura asked.

“Let me start by telling you how Althea described the man to us. In his forties, clean shaven, short hair, fairly muscular. Ordinary clothes. She heard him speak so she knew he was American, but she claims she’d never seen him before. Have you seen anyone of that description in Sullivan’s lately?”

Maura suppressed the urge to laugh. She’d seen plenty of American men over the past few weeks, especially the week since Althea had arrived. Of course, not all had come in alone—could she eliminate the guys who had appeared with a girlfriend or family in tow? “There have been a few Americans, and a lot of them kind of fit that description. Wait—one guy about that age I do remember because he spent a good bit of time looking at Gillian—Rose noticed.”

Sean smiled. “Sure and there are plenty of men who enjoy looking at Gillian.”

“It’s no big thing,” Gillian said, ignoring his compliment. “I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, and nobody tried to strike up a conversation with me. But, Maura—Althea was sitting at the table too. You’re sure it was me he was looking at?”

“Actually, no. I guess it could have been either one of you.”

“Would you remember when that might have been, Maura?” Sean asked.

Maura shook her head. “No, sorry. Maybe I can ask Rose when she comes in. Hang on—you said Althea was just
worried
she’d killed this guy. Is there a body?”

“None that we’ve found, but he went into the river in Skibbereen, and he could be anywhere downstream by now.”

Maura tried to figure out which question she wanted to ask first—apart from why Althea had chosen this moment to grow a conscience and turn herself in, when she was so close to getting what she wanted. “Why did Althea think she’d killed him? And how’d he end up in the river?”

“Perhaps I need to make myself more clear. Althea wasn’t alone—she was with a man named Nate Reynolds.”

“What?” Maura and Gillian said in unison.

Sean looked startled by their response. “Do you know the man?”

Gillian spoke first, her words coming in a rush. “We know
of
him, but we’ve never seen him. So he and Althea were together when this other man went over the wall? Did she explain why Nate was there? What time was this?”

“I’ll try to answer your questions one at a time, and I’m sure you’ll be thinking of more. Althea told us that this Nate person was nearby, to her surprise, and he called her on her mobile and asked to meet with her. He came to her hotel, and they took a walk along the river, to keep their meeting private. This was close to midnight, and it was dark. Then she said that this other man appeared and confronted them both. She says there was an . . . altercation, and all three of them took part. Somehow the newcomer went over the edge of the wall there and into the river. They looked for him, but it was dark and they could find no sign of him.”

“Why didn’t she go straight to the garda station right then?” Maura demanded.

“She claims this Nate Reynolds begged her to wait while he sorted this through. He went back to where he was staying. She went back to her hotel, but by morning she decided to do the right thing and came to us and told us the story.”

Kind of late for the guy in the river,
Maura thought,
but maybe better late than never
.

“Have you found Nate Reynolds?” Gillian asked.

“We’ve sent a man over to Clonakilty to look for him.”

“Sean, what are you asking us?” Maura asked carefully.

“I wondered if you might know something more about this Nate Reynolds. But”—he hesitated—“Althea kept saying something like, ‘I’m going to miss the meeting.’ What might you know about that?”

Maura and Gillian exchanged a glance. “After we talked to you last,” Gillian began, “we decided to meet with Eveline Townsend this morning, since you said we could. All of us, and Harry as well. It was important to Althea—we had some questions that only Eveline can answer. Althea wouldn’t want to miss it. Although what it has to do with this man in the river I can’t say.”

“Did Althea know anyone else around here?” Sean said.

“Apart from us and Harry Townsend? And Nate, I guess? Not really, though she’s spoken to others in town,” Maura answered. “Like Billy Sheahan.”

“Sean,” Gillian said, “did Althea explain about Nate Reynolds?”

“What should I know?”

Gillian took a deep breath. “Nate’s the appraiser from New Jersey who first found the oil sketch and who called in Althea to look at it.”

“Did she not know he was in Ireland now?” Sean asked.

“She says she didn’t,” Maura answered, “but it’s possible he’s been hunting for the same painting as Althea, so it’s not surprising he’s here.”

“Is this Nate a friend of hers?”

“More like a competitor at the moment,” Maura said. “They were kind of racing each other to find the Van Dyck. That’s why we all wondered whether he was around here somewhere.”

“And would you know what he looks like?”

“We’ve never seen him, nor a picture of him,” Gillian said. “You might find a photo on the website for his auction house.”

Sean made another note in his notebook. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“I think that’s all we know, Sean,” Maura said. “Is it all right if we go ahead and talk with Eveline? Unless your people need to talk with her first.”

“That interview depends on Detective Hurley, but as far as I know, you’re free to see Eveline Townsend as you planned. I’ll be needing to get back to the station.”

“What do you do now? About the guy in the river, I mean?” Maura asked.

“We’ll be looking for a body downstream, for a start. Maybe Nate Reynolds can put a name to him, when we find him. We’ll see what his story is and if he knew the man. Given all that’s gone before, I don’t think this was a simple assault on a pair of careless tourists. We don’t see much of that here, although if he’s an American . . .” Sean smiled to soften the criticism.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all thugs back in the States,” Maura countered.

Sean stood up. “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem,” Maura said. “Let us know what you find out, will you?”

“I will, when I can.”

Gillian and Maura fell silent, watching Sean leave, get into his car, and make a U-turn to go back toward Skibbereen.

“Well,” Maura began, “I didn’t see that coming. So Althea finally decided that she’d lost control of things and agreed to talk to Nate?”